Opened Shell
by Griphen G
Summary: Tom and Marla are survivors living in a small apartment in New Hire City. When others arrive with the bang of a rifle, can they stay together and stay alive as they fight their way to a military outpost? All original characters
1. Chapter 1

_Left 4 Dead Story - Opened Shell_

ACT I

Marla felt chilled. Pulling her legs up closer to her in the queen sized bed, she struggled to keep her feet warm.

'Why am I so cold?' She thought to herself. Tightening her grip on her thin comforter, her only comforter, Marla pulled up it over shoulder, tucking it under her chin. Glancing at the electric clock on the short mantle beside her bed, she noted sullenly that it read 3:45 AM. Glaring exhausted at the blaring red figures seemed to distract her from her cold bed. She looked around the room, trying to gauge the conditions outside. Marla's bed was placed with it's headboard against the wall, a night stand supporting a lamp and the Bible on each side. Marla lay curled on the right side of the bed, closest to the wall opposite the door. The window itself was boarded up, large 2 x 4's nailed across the frame, and a steel bar over that. To Marla's right was a walk in closet, though the clothes were mostly fallen off the hangers, as she didn't have time anymore for sprucing the house up. At the opposite end of the room on the same wall as the walk in closet was the door to the hallway, which hung open a few inches, though no light crept in from the hallway. Against the wall directly opposite Marla was her dresser with a now useless Television perched on top. Listening with a practiced ear, she heard no abnormal sounds from inside the house. She had already begun to analyze and put the horrid noise from the streets out of her mind, and so disregarded the sounds of light rain peppering the roof of her apartment building, an occasional crack of thunder. She didn't notice the distant sullen bursts of automatic fire and explosions either. As Marla wakened more as the moments went by, her mind began to grow sharper. She looked over to where her husband should be laying beside her, finding only an empty bed and a shifted comforter.

She had sat up by now, pulling her knees close to her chest to keep warm. She pulled the comforter up higher around her shoulders. "At least you aren't wearing a night gown." She said to herself. "You had enough sense to wear something warmer than that." Sliding her hand out from under the cover, she felt where her husband had been laying. Still feeling relatively warm, she concluded he had just jumped up to grab something to drink or eat, though it saddened her to have him so far away.

'Which is ridiculous.' She scolded herself. 'He's just in the next room! Ever sense the infection broke out you've been afraid to be alone even for a few minutes!' She frowned slightly, sulking deeper into her blanket. It was old, and smelled like the storage closet she had pilfered it from. After she and her husband Tom had bordered up the apartment, they had little to no supplies. They had risked a trip to multiple stores, though most of it was already raided and stripped of supplies. She had finally settled for the old comforter in a box in a gas station storage room, finding no other blankets around. They had only recently moved into the apartment complex, and had little of their own belongings when the infection broke. Marla remembered the wedding, a week before Hell broke loose onto the populace. We had been so happy, she pondered, a small smile spreading across her face. Not a care in the world, nothing between us and happiness. She remembered vaguely walking down the aisle, her arm linked with her fathers, she was blushing and Tom stood there at the alter grinning so widely. She had felt like crying, seeing him reach for her hand with that ring of his, that beautiful wedding band. She felt warmer on the inside for a moment, running her finger over the gold ring on her finger. Then she remembered the out break, watching as her parents were torn apart trying to save her. She felt so small, screaming and pounding angrily on Tom's hard back as he threw her over his shoulder and sprinted for her parents mini van out front. Her parents had stayed behind to hold the door shut as long as they could while the two escaped. She had watched, wailing from the van as they began to pull away. She had screamed at Tom, called him a murderer and that he never cared about her parents, until in her blind fury she noticed that he was sobbing uncontrollably as they sped back towards the city to their new apartment.

Thinking of all the pain she had endured made the tears start again, she quietly sobbed in her tight ball of comforter until she had no more tears. Feeling tense and wanting her lover's strong arms stretched around her trembling body, Marla slid out of bed and walked to her dresser. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a pair of wool socks and put them over her white ones to keep warm. She had on a light grey long sleeved shirt (which was actually Tom's, though she wore it for it's heat even though it was a dozen sizes too big.) which fell down loosely to her mid thigh. The sleeves stretched six inches past her hands when she allowed her slender arms to hang down. Her lower half was completely covered with a matching light grey sweat pant style type of night pants that also retained heat quite well. Even with her warm clothes she was still cold, used to Tom's arm around her waist as they slept, keeping each other warm. Marla was a smaller woman, only about five foot five and one hundred and twenty-five pounds. She had shoulder length brown hair and deep green eyes. She turned to the mahogany door and opened it to it's full length, stepping out into the hallway cautiously. The wall was painted a dull yellow color, pictures absent from their hastily erected entrance into their home. Reaching the end of the hallway she turned left down a shorter hallway in the same repair with a door against the left corner to the bathroom, and a turn into the living room to the right. Noting that the bathroom was empty and the door ajar, she turned to the living room instead. She put her arms across her breasts and under the other arm to keep her hands warm against the cold, rubbing her sides gently. The living room was quite spacious, with two couches and another television on a home theatre box against the wall to her immediate right. The wall straight ahead sported two boarded up windows, the white blinds hanging across in an attempt to relieve the stress at looking at them. Against the opposite wall hung the one picture they had time to hang, a large blown up picture of Tom, Marla, her father Jeremy and mother Teresa, Tom's sister Melody and Marla's brother Jonathon all standing smiling warmly at the camera, each with their arms across the other's shoulders. Marla had always loved that photograph, as both Tom's family (His parents had died when he was eighteen) and Marla's got along as though they had always been related. She had always been thankful and proud of the close relationship between their families. A sky blue couch had been pushed against the wall under the picture, two small plushy toys in each back corner of the cushions, something that Tom had giggled about and teased her with. She began feeling a bit warmer inside thinking of when she had bought the cute little toys at a toy store searching for a gift for her niece's fifth birthday. Absolutely adoring them, she had brought back the soft frogs home to Tom as a gift to help 'unlock your feminine side' as she had put it. He had laughed and replied, 'If my feminine side were still locked I'd be a bachelor!'

A small wooden coffee table sat at the foot of the couch, a broken blue lamp in the corner by the windows and a smaller night stand beside the arm of the second couch against the divider wall. She turned towards the kitchen to continue her search. The living room had a small divider wall between it and the dining room, a small area with an oak table and chairs, a simple but cute chandelier hanging smartly above it. There was another dividing wall that ran half way across the dining room to separate it from the kitchen.

'Back when we would have had company, this would have been a nice place.' She reminded herself confidently. The soft brown carpet of the bedroom and similarly themed wood flooring of the hallway ended abruptly with the switch to the kitchen, tiled with a nice orange ceramic. A pantry was against the wall straight ahead, the door closed. Next and to the left of the pantry was another boarded up window. The wall to her left was taken up by the cupboards, fridge, stove and sink. She noted that the door to the roof (as their apartment took up the top floor) was hanging open, a cool damp breeze blowing through. The building creaked as she walked quietly over to the door. Peeking around, she looked up the steps to see the roof access was also opened wide. A chill went down her spine. Could one of them had come during the night? Had they taken Tom without noticing her? A dull sense of panic set in. Had Tom … maybe left her?

'No!' She yelled at herself in her mind. 'Don't you dare say that! He would never leave you like that, and you know it! Don't degrade him because you're scared!' She paused none the less. 'I'm not scared, I'm terrified.' She thought. She looked through the doorway. The hot water heater sat in the corner of the roof access against an unfinished wall. Tom had paid someone to remodel the roof access, but it was never finished for obvious reasons. The walls leading up to the roof were bare and unpainted, the floor un-tiled and roughly placed down hardware was set instead. Gathering up her courage, Marla went back to the bedroom and grabbed her warm slippers, something she neglected to do in the first place because she had expected Tom to be in the living room reading, not on the roof doing …. Whatever. Slipping on her tan slippers she walked back to the roof access hallway and stepped inside. She was freezing, and knew that if she went back for her jacket she would lose the will to head up to the roof. She would sit on the couch and curl into a ball, bawling, terrified until Tom came back down to comfort her.

She began down the hallway, slower than when she had walked through her apartment, watching up the short steps at the door intensely. The cold air blowing through the hallway chilled her, and despite herself she blushed intensely as she began to get goose skin from the cold. Through the open doorway she could see the telephone lines that stretched across the street (completely out of sight) to the telephone pole.

It was useless, all phone lines had been severed in some way or form when the infection first broke out. Rain was coming down slowly, not even a light shower but a small sprinkle to go along with the thunder. Lightening flashed, causing Marla to jump backwards with a squeak of terror. Her squeak was covered up with the crash of thunder that shook her up even more. She had been scared witless, and found herself starting to get hysterical. Curling up slowly, Marla leaned against the wall and slid down, sobbing quietly. Pulling her legs to her chest again, wrapping her arms around them tight and burying her face in her knees, Marla sobbed uncontrollably. 'No!' She thought. 'It was only lightening honey, you're fine! You're fine! You're scaring yourself into unconsciousness, stop!' Marla raised her head slightly, looking out at the dark grey blue sky, feeling disgusted with herself. Using the wall for support, Marla, stood shakily and wrapped her arms even tighter across herself. 'Tom would want you to be strong!' Her inner courage applauded her. 'Especially with something as simple as this!' Marla nodded, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her shirt, Tom's shirt, and beginning up the stairs uneasily. She felt glad for the rain, if Tom didn't notice her at first, the rain and damp cold would mask that she had been crying. She made the last step up and looked out at the world solemnly, leaning against the door frame.

Another apartment building loomed across the street eerily, all the windows were black, most broken out. A satellite dish sat at the top right corner of the brownish grey brick building, telephone lines streaked across the street four levels below. Marla stepped out of the cover of the roof access door way, slowly approached the roof edge. An old tin water tower stood erect eerily in the foggy dampness of the night, buildings in terrible disrepair stretched both ways down the street, windows shattered, occasionally a wall smashed from a car wreck, vehicles sat abandoned in the street, windows rolled up or smashed out, doors ajar, debris scattered across the street, covering the sidewalks. A Mercedes sat in the middle of the road, a fire burning brightly from it's engine block. A mound sat next to it, a mound of decaying flesh and clothes. Marla gagged, she didn't remember that there was a body there. It had been months since she had even entered the roof access hallway. That was why, she hadn't looked at the outside world for months accept for the DVD's that she and Tom would watch, maybe and an occasional VCR tape if they were bored of watching Christmas specials they had raided from the apartments below. Marla still felt terrible about going into their neighbor's homes and sorting through their belongings, she was apprehensive about even going through their cupboards for food, let alone Tom pilfering their books, clothes and movies. She realized that the owners were most likely dead or infected, but the upside down feeling she got in her stomach never did cease to make her nauseous. To either side of their apartment building, brown red brick apartments and hotels stretched down the linear streets. She glanced around quietly. The roof was spacious, with vents for the appliances, air conditioners for the summer, electric boxes for the entire building, even a few white painted wooden tables for a roof garden spaced around the tar floor. She looked left, and noticed Tom sitting on a fold up chair under a blue tarp, gazing out at the sky. Tom Shell stood six foot four and weighed two hundred and ten pounds of muscle. Tom was a manager of a marginally successful banking company, athletic in the terms of keeping in shape by working out at home, and smart as a whip. He had a thick neck, and long face, dark brown hair and blue grey eyes, clean shaven and fresh. He was handsome, masculine, but kind and caring. Marla loved him more than she could ever express, and knew that he loved her the same, if not more. She blushed and gazed at him with her head tilted down a bit. She coughed a little, and Tom looked over at her surprised.

"Marla? What are you doing out here? It's almost four in the morning." He asked coolly. She blushed even deeper, walking towards him with a gulp. He remained seated in the chair, but held up his arms for her as she approached, taking them and turning towards the street, she sat down easily into his lap, pushing close to him as he put his arms around her stomach, leaning into her lovingly. She felt his warmth and was momentarily lost by the wave of comfort that washed over her like a wave. Leaning back against him, she joined him in gazing out at the sky as the rain came down.

"Well?" He whispered into her ear.

She looked up and over her shoulder her shoulder at him. He was looking at her warmly.

"I got cold." She replied innocently. 'Partly true.' She scolded herself. 'You were scared brainless doll.' She looked back out the clouds to keep her terrified eyes from betraying her. Tom knew she was frightened, but acted as if he didn't.

"Alright, just stay here and get warm." She lost her mind. Everything had slowed down, the infection hadn't come and everything was as it should be now that he's holding me like this. Marla thought. She knew she was lying, but for now she would believe herself until the next time she was scared, until the next time Tom held her tight. Then she would believe her dream world. Her memories. Only then.

********

Marla hadn't realized she had drifted off in Tom's lap until the sound of an engine coming closer shook her from her dream. She had been sitting in a long chair on the beach of one of the Bahaman Islands, taking ethical sips from an iced Margarita that would last all day. The sun had been beating down brightly on her body, she was dressed in a comfortable tropical out fit, a bathing suit with a see through frilly piece of clothe wrapped around her waist for a skirt. A bamboo private resort had sat behind her in the tree line, Tom had walked out relaxed, dressed in an unbuttoned T-shirt and swimming trunks. He had sat beside her in another sand chair with a glass of iced tea and a book. He had begun to read, Marla and he holding hands as the crystal clear waves of the ocean lapped sheepishly against the warm white sand. And then the sound of a heavy diesel engine blared through her dream and she awoke to find herself sitting in Tom's lap, the rain still coming down, a bit harder now, and Tom sitting up straight. She slid off of him, not even close to being sleepy. Marla huddled under the tarp against the wall of the roof, looking over the side at the streets below with Tom right beside her. She was numb, she couldn't decide whether to feel scared that someone was making that much noise, excited that they had found someone else alive, a survivor, or confused as to why they were making such a poor attempt at not being caught. Her breath caught in her throat as around the corner, at the far right side of the apartment building at an intersection, a green, black and brown camouflaged military Hum-vee came tearing around the corner at, at least, sixty miles an hour. The turret on top of the truck was gone, though a blur of a man sat with a rifle firing behind the vehicle down out of view. The Hum-Vee flipped around the corner, heading straight past Tom and Marla's apartment building. Tom gasped as well, said more to himself than to Marla,

"It's gon'na crash! It's too heavy to make that turn and keep going!" Marla only began to get worried when a wave of infected rounded the corner behind the truck. As Tom had said, the Hum-Vee fishtailed with it's worn tires and obviously novice driver in the rain soaked streets of New Hire City. The Hummer turned completely sideways, flipped over and rolled twice, the gunner slipping inside moments before. The roof crumpled slightly, the truck sliding forty feet on it's side before hitting an abandoned Mercedes and flipping back on it's wheels. The horde of infected behind it, at least two hundred or so, seemed to double in speed at seeing the wreck. Rifle and automatic fire erupted from the Hummer, the leading ten lines of infected stumbled and tripped, blood spattering from their bodies as they fell, only to be trampled by the next lines coming in. Marla squealed quietly, turning her head away from the gory mess and burying it into Tom's chest. She began to sob quietly. Tom stood stunned, staring in shock as wave after wave of infected approached, only to be cut down under a wave of fire from the inhabitants of the Hum-Vee. He put his arm around Marla affectionately. Through sobs of terror, Marla looked up at him, tears and rain drops dripping off strips of wet hair that clung to her neck and shoulders. She coughed out in her sweet but horrified voice,

"What are we going to do Tom!?" She looked at him terrified. He gazed down at her face after a few moments of silence. His eyes were hard and determined, a look he gets only when he's made up his mind and can't be stopped. That look scared her. She squeaked and gripped him as tight as she could around his stomach. He gave her a tight squeeze back. 'He can't do this to me!' She screamed in her mind. 'It's not his problem those idiots decided to flip their truck and screw themselves over! He shouldn't have to make up for them!' She began to bawl hysterically, slowly loosening her grip and sliding down towards the wet roof. He slid with her, until they sat there leaning against the apartment wall, Marla bawling her eyes out, Tom choking back his own tears. 'He's going to die! He's going to get himself killed!' She screamed in her mind. 'He's going to leave you!' Marla looked up at her husband. He wouldn't do that. He _couldn't_ do that. He'd lose his own mind as well. He looked at her lovingly, and said,

"I'm going to help them. I'm going to get your father's M16 out of the bedroom closet, and help them." At hearing this, Marla broke down into sobs, not of fear or anger, but of understanding. She loved him, and he loved her, but Tom Shell had a heart for anyone. He would tear himself apart if he didn't help those people, as stupid as they were. Marla looked up at him, still crying, but put on her best encouraging smile she could muster.

"Go, before it's too late." She whispered. Tom grinned, his own tears dripping off of his face, he kissed her once before jumping up in his long black sweatpants and plain white T-shirt and running back into the house to pull her father's M16 rifle out of their bedroom closet and charge down the stairs to help the survivors in the truck.

Marla stayed there for a few moments before finally finding the strength to rise and go back inside. She closed and locked the roof access door, then the door to the hallway in the kitchen as well. She picked out a metal bar from in the pantry, placing it across the door on to metal hooks to keep it from shattering more easily. Marla Shell strolled over to the kitchen counter, a look of courage and hope on her face, opened a drawer and pulled a handgun out. Sliding the magazine into the well, she racked the slide with a clack, though making sure it was on safety before letting herself lower her arm. Marla Shell went and stood by the door downstairs between the hallway to the bedroom and the living room, raised her .45 pistol and waited for her husband to return. She would make sure nothing was living behind him and the survivors when they returned.

AFTERWARDS: Hey all, I'm new to the site and love to write, but I don't want to put anything original up here, for obvious reasons. This is something new I just typed up today and want to see if it gets any good reviews. I'll continue if you want me, and please, if you have something negative to say, make it reasonable and smart. Any text talk or foul languaged reviews will be erased. And note: This isn't a love story. I needed a compassionate first ACT to start off the drama and give an in depth view of the main characters so far, Marla and Tom. Have a good one ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

ACT II

Tairun Ashby knew he and his companions were in trouble when their Hum-Vee went sideways after that sharp turn he had pulled and began to fishtail. He knew he shouldn't have tried that pig headed move, he was going too fast to pull a turn that sharp. 'You're going to pay for it dearly!' he thought as the Hum-Vee began to spin. 'Now look what you've done!'

Mark Hoskins, a corporal in the National Guard screamed from the back seat, still clutching his leg where the infected had grabbed a hold of him back at the North Side Gas Station. His large hand was clamped over the bite, blood sliding out between his fingers. He had been bitten on the outside of the right thigh, just above his knee, his forest camouflage trousers sodden with his dark blood. His face had gone white, and a small trickle of blood had begun to drizzle out from the corner of his mouth. Tairun tried to understand why he was bleeding from the mouth, Mark hadn't been hit that hard to cause anything internal. Unless ….

"You told me you could drive a vehicle this freaking big!" He screamed, pulling out his Beretta 9mm, pushing outside of one of the shattered windows and firing off four rounds. His eyes were full of anger.

"I lied!" Tairun screamed back, attempting to stop the massive Hummer from stalling. The back seat also housed Tabitha Nhugen and her sister Joanna Nhugen, both were screaming at the top of their lungs, pushed against the door and gripping each other so tightly that their knuckles were white. Tabitha was covered with blood, it ran from her left shoulder down to mid thigh, as though someone had taken a bucket of blood and simply poured it over her. Joanna was near the same, arterial spray from an infected spattered across her white linen shirt. Trent Davidson, a husky, large man, stood up in the gunners position with a MP5 submachine gun, spraying the horde of zombies behind them with as many rounds as he could without missing. Tairun cursed, spun the wheel a bit too far, turning the Hummer sideways while still at sixty miles an hour. There was a tantalizing moment where time stood still, the Hummer sliding almost dreamily across the wet pavement. Every instinct in his body told him it wouldn't last. Mark screamed violently, grabbed Trent by the back of his belt and pulled him back inside the vehicle.

The tires caught, and gravity shifted. Tairun looked out his window. A large brown red apartment building stretched far up, it's doors and windows boarded off, the steps to the main entrance covered with debris and trash, as though someone had been throwing their garbage out of the window for months. The ground seemed to rotate into the window, Tairun seemed to believe that he wasn't crashing, he wasn't going to die, he wasn't being chased by two hundred disgruntled infected who wanted to rip him limb from limb. Tairun was back with his mom and dad, watching television on a Saturday afternoon like they always had. Reality begged to differ. The Hummer jolted, there was the sound of metal crunching, Tairun felt his head smash against the steering wheel, then the collapsing door. The two Nhugens screams of terror stopped suddenly as the vehicle seemed to turn upright, gravity now went down and Tairun tried to open his eyes. He moaned as he felt the heavily armored vehicle starting to flip again, his eyes burned as dust, rock and his own sweat filled them up. He was upside down, he heard metal crunching and the constant cursing coming from Corporal Hoskins. The vehicle flipped once more, Tairun hanging to the side as he felt the vehicle skid across the pavement. He heard a wooden smash, unconceivable objects slapped into him, he thought vaguely, 'It's Hoskin's supply box. He's going to be pissed.' The Hummer jolted to a halt, slammed over once more and stopped. Gravity was going down, meaning that they weren't upside down.

Tairun's ears rung, so loud and high pitched he just wanted to die rather than to hear it keep going. He tried opening his eyes, nearly screamed as they stung violently. He rubbed them with the back of his hands and the inside of his wrists. He felt mild percussions on his body, that seemed to reverberate throughout the Hummer, though Tairun's mind was elsewhere and his main priority was being able to see again. He blinked, could see but everything was fuzzy. His right eye stung again, he wiped it again and he realized that he was being blinded by his own blood. He gingerly felt his scalp, barely had a finger on it before the pain shot down his spine. This time he did scream, his head was cracked open. He fought through the pain, turning so slightly to see around. The girls were still bloodied up, some of their own blood this time from small cuts from being jumbled around. They still sat, though instead of screaming they held each other tightly, rocking back and forth. Mark and Trent were shooting out the windows, Mark had unlatched his M4 from the rack and was pumping out the 5.56 millimeter rounds as fast as he could on semi auto. He was Army, and Army use their heads, they don't blind fire like Trent and the MP5, spraying and praying wasn't useful. Mark fired fast and efficiently, each shot he took a dull thump echoed through Tairun's ears over the ringing. 'That explains the percussions.' Tairun thought. Trent was doing the same, though holding down the trigger seemed to work just fine for him. Brass spilled throughout the Hummer, some bouncing off the walls, others flying out the window. Tairun coughed dryly, reached down to his hip and un holstered his own Beretta 9mm, pushed out of the ruins of the driver's door window and pulled the trigger. His hearing was still gone, though each shot fired made the same dull thump against his chest and echoing boom in his ears.

'We're gon'na die.' He thought to himself. 'This is it. I'm going to die blinded by my own blood in a Hummer with four people I don't even know.' He tried to hold back his tears. 'I just want my mom and dad!' Gritting his teeth, Tairun pulled his Beretta back inside, dropped the empty magazine and slid in a new one. He released the slide and continued shooting.

It was all their fault he wasn't at home with his mom Kathy and dad Stephen. They took them away from you! The voice in his head urged. It's their fault your not asleep peacefully in bed right now! It's there fault you had to celebrate your sixteenth birthday alone in a sewer drain, eating granola bars and stale bread for a cake. Their fault you had to pick up the family shotgun and kill them both when they came home vomiting blood and trying to kill you. Tairun was screaming now, he yelled and pulled the trigger as fast as he could. He let his tears fall and land on his cut up body, he let it sting and used that pain to fuel his hatred.

'I'll kill you all!!" He screamed. "It's all your fault, you infected bastards!!" He was furious, pulling his arm back into the hummer to reload with his second to last magazine, his shirt caught on the glass of the broken window, cutting deep into his forearm. He grunted, slapped the magazine in and looked back at the horde. Mounds of bodies lay in rows across the street, the rain coming down mixing with the blood of a hundred infected.

They had closed within one hundred feet of the crippled useless Hum-Vee, foaming at the mouth, thrashing at the air, staring at Tairun with dead, milky white eyes. Eyes that no longer moved. Eyes with evil buried deep inside them. They foamed and roared and called as they fell, their ranks blown apart as the bullets went through one and out into the one behind it. Bones cracked and shattered, those too hurt to be able to reach the Hummer threw themselves into the air to take at least one bullet for the others. A single mind with a million bodies ran their limbs. A demented puppet for animalistic rituals. Feast, feast, feast! The infected roared to themselves in the way of blood shed. Kill, kill, kill! The inner voice urged! Kill them! Feast on them! Drink them!

Tairun felt their hatred, that inner malice that only one could create. His plague on society and hopes on devastation. 'The prince of the air has many plans.' Tairun hissed inside his mind. 'I'm not going to be a part of it!' He realized his hearing had returned, he didn't know how long, but he enjoyed the thought of hearing the infected explode as he shot them down. He heard the clanging of metal, and looked over to see that the door to the apartment building he had seen earlier had swung upon, shifting some of the trash. A man stood there, Tairun shifted his arm, putting the front blade of the sight over his head. He tensed for the shot, and was shocked to see the man tap an M16 he carried, pop out from around the door and shoot. The crack of his rifle alerted Mark, who glanced over with a grim smile.

"I'll be damned!" He cried. Tairun turned to him as Mark jabbed him on the shoulder.

"Move your ass Tai! Get our doors open and head for that apartment building!"

Tai was stunned, but obeyed none the less. Sliding over in his seat, the sixteen year old slammed his boot into the heavily deflated door repeatedly until it slammed open, falling off it's hinges and hitting the pavement with a crack. The infected didn't seem to take notice of this or the man with the M16 who had just joined the fray, they wanted the Hummer. They wanted it and whatever had been inside it. It had made so much noise, so much blaring that they couldn't hear their voices' smooth words. His oily thick ideas. The voice must be listened to! They roared! Feast, feast, feast! All those who oppose we devour! The horde was beginning to thin out at the flanks, many had already fallen to the bullets flying from the humans fire arms. As long as they could hold out until the chosen ones come … the horde laughed as one, inaudibly loud. They will have done their jobs then.

Tairun had pried open the door to the back seat, and was trying to coax Tabitha out when he heard a scream. Looking over to the opposite side of the street, the crouching figure did nothing but stare at him.

"Hunter!!" He screamed, raising his pistol and shooting at it. The hunched figure screamed again, dove behind a burning Mercedes and waited. Tairun was done being nice, grabbing Tabitha by the arms ripping her away from Joanna. The two girls began to squeal with terror, Joanna leapt out and charged at Tairun, trying to pry Tabitha from his arms. He used the opportunity to lead her inside the apartment building before dumping her and heading back for the others.

Trent had already slid out from the Hummer, and was spraying the horde violently as they moved ever closer to them. Tairun leaned back inside, gripping Mark by his belt, put him over his shoulder and turned back for the apartment where the man stood firing his M16. Mark was facing back at the horde, shooting with his Beretta. Gripping his vest, the corporal pulled a hand grenade from it, biting the pin and yanking it out. He held the spoon tight in his left hand as Tairun started up the steps. Glancing back at the burning Mercedes, he noticed the Hunter had crept up to within fifty feet of them, eyeing them hungrily. Mark moved his pistol over at the Hunter and fired. The round caught it off guard, thinking it was still undetected. The second shot was a near miss of it's head, the Hunter crouched up ….

"Oh, frick!" Mark shouted at himself, taking another shot. Too late. The Hunter sprang forward, leaping dozens of feet off the ground, straight for Tairun, thirsting for his blood. If Mark could find the right moment to shoot… he concentrated, and time seemed to stand still. The blades of his pistols sights put directly in front of the leaping infected's forehead. He would headshot it if he would fire. His finger started to squeeze the trigger, and a booming voice hissed in his mind.

"No brother! Fire not on the chosen!" It was sudden, shocking Mark ever so little. His aim was off by the time he shot. The bullet flew foreword, catching the Hunter at the base of his neck in between the shoulder and throat. Blood splattered out, the Hunter twisted in mid air, landed at the base of the stairs facing the building from where he had came, and jumped back. Mark repeated firing at his hunched form as he ducked away into cover. An infected had reached the stairs as the man had been reloading, and as Tairun made it through the doorway, Mark shot his last round, hitting the infected directly in the forehead. There was a wet crack as it's skull hollowed out. Another infected was right behind it however, and Mark chucked his empty 9mm at it, smacking off it's skull, it stopped, momentarily stunned, just enough time for the apartment man to bring his M16 up to bear and ventilate his head like the one before it. Mark tossed the fragmentation grenade out at the Hummer, hitting directly into the driver's seat as the horde approached at a full sprint. The man closed the doors quickly, putting a lock on them before covering them back up with steel bars that sat on hooks in the door frame to keep them from shattering. There was a loud boom, followed by the screams of the infected horde that were blown to bits. The ones that had survived the initial explosion had caught fire from the Hum-vee's gas tank igniting. It may not explode like in the movies, but it will spread havoc with fire.

"Man, I thought we were cooked!" Mark said before going unconscious.

********

She was so tense, terrified at the outcome of the skirmish, praying that Tom would return. She had stood at the top of the stairs for ten minutes gazing down with her .45 in hand. Shivering, but refusing to leave her post, she nearly died when the first blood soaked figures turned the corner to the stair well. They were two girls, a bit smaller than her, each wet from the rain and spattered with dark, blackish blood. Congealing blood. As she raised her pistol, terror shot through her. 'You can't shoot them.' The voice said. 'They used to be just like you. Normal, young and pretty.' She squeaked to herself. 'But they still are pretty! They're still young!' Her arm shook. The two girls curled back against the wall. Terror lit up in their eyes. Marla froze. Infected didn't feel fear. They felt only hatred, the lust for warm blood. Marla's senses began to adjust, she looked at them with new eyes. Two scared girls, spattered with blood not belonging to them. Were you so different once?

Slowly, Marla lowered her shooting arm, fresh tears springing into her eyes. She had almost shot them, these two little girls. She tried to coax them up.

"It's okay girls. C'mon up. I'm sorry." The two stayed where they were, huddled together squeezing so tight their knuckles were white. Marla tried again, attempting the most soothing voice she could muster at the time.

"I won't hurt you, I was startled, that's all. Please come up where it's safe." The two girls seemed to relax a tad, though stayed huddled in the corner of the stairwell. Marla was getting agitated. She was trying to help them now, why couldn't they just move up? She had been startled, they were as well. She grimaced. 'Why the hell are they cowering there like sick puppies!?' Her mind tried to wrap this up. 'Do you look bad? No, I never where makeup to bed, so the rain couldn't have smudged it.' She caught herself. 'Stop acting like a child! Being self conscious at a time like this isn't appropriate! She scolded down the steps,

"Get up here! Stop acting like school girls and save yourselves!" There was silence. The two glanced at one another. Marla nearly screamed. 'What is wrong with them?'

"Do I have to come down there myself!?" She shouted. She jumped back as a male voice replied back,

"Don't worry, I've got them." A young man came around the corner, he was covered with blood as well but it seemed to be his own. Across his shoulder was another man dressed in fatigues, he swayed limply causing Marla to believe he was either dead or unconscious. The boy grabbed one of the girls hands, pulling her rather roughly up the mahogany stairs behind him. The other squealed and followed reluctantly, brushing past Marla as if she had never existed. Next up was a larger sized man with a scraggly beard that huffed up the steps two at a time. He was amazingly fit for his weight, and was up the stairs faster than the other four had combined. She was stiff as they passed her, they glanced about and headed into the living room without a word. She stared down the stairwell. Her chest felt tight. 'Tom Jon Shell' She thought with an emotional hardness. 'You best walk up those steps.'

Another minute or two passed, she turned pleadingly to the new comers who, in spite of being exhausted from the truck wreck, the charge up the stairs and the shooting, were making busy finding things to clean themselves up. The passed out soldier had been thrown on the couch that sat under Marla's favorite photograph. His eyes were closed and scrunched, he seemed to moan in his sleep (if that's the proper word for it) gritting his teeth and mumbling out words that no one could understand. He had blonde hair that was closely shaved, a large nose and mouth and thin eye brows. His face was hard set, muscular and tough looking. He wore soaked camouflage fatigues, dog tags that hung from his neck and jet black boots. His right leg was sodden with blood, and seemed to originate from the outside thigh right above the knee.

The larger man was standing over him, pressing a towel that he grabbed from the door-less pantry against the large gash on his leg. He was about six foot two, three hundred and ten pounds and wide. He had a thick neck, curly brown hair and a scraggly brown beard. He had black eyes and a smaller mouth with a busy expression over his face. He wore a simple white T-shirt with torn jeans, spattered with mud and blood. He had a cut on his right temple, which bled like a stuck pig, dribbling down to his shirt collar, staining it pink.

The two girls sat huddling each other on the other couch closest to the wall. They both had sleek black hair and a thin build. Marla realized that they were twins, each had a normal sized mouth, a smaller nose and high cheekbones. The only thing different about each were their eyes. One had a green left eye and brown right eye, while the other had the same colors but reversed. 'They're gorgeous!' Marla gaped. Each wore loose fitting clothes smeared with black red blood. They had cornered animal looks across their faces, and they bawled openly. They couldn't be more than thirteen years old. Marla suddenly felt terrible about calling them school girls. They were children, and terrified children at that.

The last of the bunch was the young man who had dragged the twins up the stairs, he stood by the pantry routing through for some object that would help the soldiers bleeding. He was normal height, about five foot ten, and looked only to be about sixteen years old. With a rounder face and thin mustache, he seemed to have a bit of Hispanic blood in his veins. He had dark eyes and a long nose, short black hair and long fingers. His hair was matted to his head, blood streamed down from his hairline, dripping into his eyes and shirt. He wore a white tank top with an unbuttoned dark grey T-shirt over it. For pants he had long dark grey cargo's that fit loosely, though he respectfully sported a belt to keep them up at his waist.

Marla turned back to the stairs, her heart racing a bit faster. Where was Tom? Surely they wouldn't return without him! A dull panic had reset its self inside of her, she tensed and held back tears. 'Tom Jon Shell.' She pleaded in her mind. 'You best walk up those stairs!'

She paused, listened intently for any sound that give leeway to her pinched chest, racing heart and shivering body. She heard footsteps at last, saw him walk into view, pulling the door to the stairwell closed behind him and locking it with the bar. He strapped the M16 over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. Looking up and seeing her, he smiled warmly. Marla was elated, choked back tears, now of joy. She paused, placed down the handgun on the floor as he approached. She gave him a tight hug and hissed compassionately,

"If you ever do something that dumb again Tom I'll beat you!" She held him tighter and cried. He smelled of gun powder, wet pavement and blood. She bared it, as long as it wasn't there to stay, she would deal with it promptly. With one arm still around her, Tom closed the door and latched it, though waited until after she was done coping to put the bar in place.

"I know." he whispered. She yawned, feeling extraordinarily tired as soon as she rested her head against him. Tom bent over, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her gently back to their bedroom.

"Thanks Tom." Marla whispered. He set her down and quickly changed her out her soaked sweats, laid her in the bed and promised to be back in a few minutes. She smiled at him weakly.

"I'm glad this is all over with." Marla rolled over onto her side and passed out. Tom stood there quietly for a moment beside the door, watching his beloved wife sleep peacefully.

"I'm sorry." He whispered gently, closing the door. He turned down the hallway, but didn't move an inch. "I don't think we're out of the woods yet, love." He solemnly walked into the living room to help the newcomers.


	3. Chapter 3

ACT III

Marla rolled quietly, found her husbands form wrapped in the comforter and put her arm around him. She curled up tighter in a ball, Tom squeezing her tightly. She parted her eyes quietly, sun filtered through the blinds of their room, a long rectangle of brilliance cast across the brown carpet floor. Her closet door hung open, the neatly pressed clothing hanging clean according to color. Her nightstand was predominately covered by a large book with a page marker half way through it. The family bible was in the drawer as to not collect dust. Above their bed a picture of an Alaskan hillside hung decoratively. The door hung open, the yellow wallpaper reflected the sunlight, lighting up the entire room. Marla smiled and whispered more to herself than anyone else.

"It's so beautiful Tom. I can't wait for our kids to see it one day."

Tom hummed soothingly. "We're not done yet."

He replied quietly, as if at a far off distance. Marla paused, a confused look across her face, she turned to look at him. Tom wasn't there. The bed was empty and cold. She gripped only a wad of musty old comforter.

"No!" She hissed. "Please no, come back!" She looked frantically out at her brilliantly stunning apartment. It began to shift before her eyes, the colors swirling into a dark blue hue that covered everything like a mold. She choked back a cry. She didn't want it all to go away! Anywhere but reality! She screamed as the sun coming through the window slowly retracted, gliding closer and closer to the wall until it vanished completely. Marla panicked, thrashing in the bed, trying to get out, but something had her by the wrists. She looked below her, she was no longer in her bed by the deck of a helicopter. Sweat poured off of her body, the hands kept pulling. Everything around her was mist except for the helicopter. It was long and thin, a grayish olive green in color. The hands that pulled her closer to the mist were bony and strong, but cold and damp. A face evolved from the black mist, long and bony, screaming at her violently. Blood streamed from his nose, mouth and eyes, his teeth were long and sharp, glistening with malice. She screamed, but made no noise. An infected had her, and she was mute. She was jerked off the helicopter, and went into a free fall. Only then did the hands let go, Marla flailed wildly as she fell farther and farther away from the aircraft.

There was a sickening crack, and Marla awoke to find herself alone in bed. She tensed, glancing wildly back and forth. Had she been screaming? 'Lord, I hope not.' She paused, recounting the sickening face coming out of the mist. She held still, taking deep breaths to keep from breaking down. Stupid Tom. Every time he left her in bed she woke up from either a nightmare or scared out of her mind to be alone. She cried, Marla couldn't keep herself from doing that, what was important to her at the moment was not becoming hysterical. She felt almost instantly for blaming Tom. It wasn't his fault she tried to sleep all day to keep from realizing the state of the city outside. She felt bad every time she tried to place the blame for her behavior, but Marla was still in shock from what had happened and needed time to adjust. Tom helped her a lot with her problems, she was glad she had been blessed with him.

But some of it he couldn't help her with. Some of it was purely mental, the ferocity of the plague that had be felled the world, and more painfully, her family, was tearing her apart on the inside. 'You're too soft.' She thought broken heartedly. 'You weren't meant for this. You're too soft this devilishly new world.' She sat up cross legged in the bed, warm from sweating in shock to the dream. Taking a deep breath, she had calmed herself down. Reaching over, she felt Tom's side of the bed. It was hot, he had just gotten up. She smiled weakly, thinking to herself, 'This time he really has just gotten up.' Her smile grew. 'I'll surprise him with being awake when he comes back.' She glanced over at her clock as an after thought. A pout went across her face. It was nine thirty two in the morning. 'Aww.' She sighed and swung out of bed, walked to her dresser, changed into a light blue skirt that dropped to her knees and a white linen shirt that fit loosely about her. Looking in the oak dresser, she noticed that a few articles of her wardrobe were missing.

"Tom must have grabbed some of them for the girls last night." She concluded out loud.

"Last night?" Tom's voice made her jump a bit, though she smiled and brushed it off.

"Yes. And don't tell me it was a dream." Tom shook his head.

"It wasn't a dream, but it wasn't last night either. You were exhausted Mar." She blushed a bit. He had called her Mar since when they had first met. He had surprised her the first time he had used it, no one had ever attempted to give her a nick name, and she had felt flattered. It was such a small event, but to her was one of his crowning moments. She loved his nickname for her, but refused to let anyone else but him call her by it. A 'members only' title she had called it. Tom continued with a mischievous grin.

"You slept all day Mar. And all night. It's Friday." Marla gaped at him.

"You're kidding me, tom!"

"Nope." He said with a grin. "You slept like a baby."

"You should have woken me." She smiled.

"Not at all. You needed it." He replied, extending his arm. She winked her thanks and gripped his hand tight. She looked at her feet.

"What's going on with the others?" She whispered. Tom nodded.

"Would you like to meet them?" Tom replied.

Marla's smile faded sullenly. "I don't know, Tom."

Tom gave a knowing nod of his head. "C'mon Mar, make some friends. They're good people." He paused, smiled and winked at her. "And those two girls are cute ones. You always said you wanted a girl."

Marla blushed. "Yes, but one of our own. I don't know how to connect to them. What are they? Twelve?"

"Thirteen." Tom corrected.

Marla nodded. "Thirteen year old girls. I don't know how connect to them! I barely connected with you at first!"

Tom shook his head. "You're very shy at times. And besides Marla, you're going to have to meet them sometime."

Marla gave a slight pout. "I hate it when you make me social." She giggled, despite herself.

Tom grinned, pulled her close for a tight hug. The two turned and walked down the hallway, still clutching hands. Marla was nervous, she bit her lower lip slightly. Two thirteen year old girls? Whom she had at gunpoint a day before? 'You're beating yourself up.' She thought. 'They'll understand now that everyone's calmed down.' She grimaced. 'I hope.'

Rounding the corner to the living room, Marla studied the group closely. The young man sat on the couch against the divider wall, holding a cereal bowl up to his and eating slowly, staring intently at the television in the home theatre system. One of the two young girls laid on the same couch using his mid thigh as a pillow. Her legs were propped up on her twin's lap, who sat at the opposite arm of the blue couch silently. They too were watching the television, where the faint noises of an old Disney cassette played. The bulky man sat beside the soldiers limp body on the other sofa under the picture of Marla and Tom's family. The larger man dabbed at a cut with some sort of cleaner on the soldiers leg, the camouflaged man grinding his teeth with anguish at the sting of the alcoholic liquid. The two girls noticed her, remained silent and returned to the movie. They were both washed and changed, wearing white and sky blue linen shirts from Marla's dresser, along with two pairs of dark blue jeans that fit loosely. Their eyes were frightened and wide, but calm and diluted of the panic she had seen two nights ago. Marla was relieved they didn't shriek in terror or curl up and begin to cry at the sight of her. It was a small victory, she knew, she was on the other side of the room, not sitting beside them. 'It's a start.' She thought positively. Marla had recognized the movie as 101 Dalmatians, one of her favorites since child hood. The boy glanced up from his cereal, which Tom had probably given him from the cupboard. (If it had been from the pantry she'd have had to beat him, nearly everything in the pantry was for storage, she had made sure that rule was clear to him. Tom obeyed mostly, though at times a box of snacks seemingly disappeared without a trace.) He nodded his greetings, reached down and gently rubbed the top of the girl leaning on his on his legs head. His eyes were dull and worn out. Marla was saddened, she was too young herself to have such old eyes, let alone this teenaged boy.

His upper lip was split at the left corner, his head shaved and bandages wrapped around to the bottom of his eye brows. He had on a Navy Blue T-shirt of Tom's, though still wore his loose dark grey cargo's from before. They were cleaned, however, Marla noticed proudly. Her husband could think of the smallest things in a situation like this. The larger man nodded, returned to dabbing the soldier's leg with the liquored up cloth. He was dressed in the same clothes as before, but as the boys were washed and pressed, though there were a few tears at the back and front from unknown origins. The man in fatigues, busy cursing at the larger man's liberal use of alcohol to the wound on his leg, appeared to have been cleaned with a rag, as his clothes were still dirty. They had pulled off his camouflage jacket, having hung it over the broken blue lamp beside the couch, he lay uncomfortably on his side with a stained white T-shirt that illustrated every muscle on his hard chest. His skin was near white and clammy, he appeared to have a terrible fever plaguing his body, sweat dribbled down his forehead like a leaking pipe. He snarled another curse, (which Marla would have minded being so close to the girls, though her head was still anticipating acceptance into the group) exposing his blood red gums and white teeth.

Tom motioned through the names of her new housemates slowly so she could remember each one.

"Mark is that gentle soul laying on the couch. The man causing his torment is Trent." Trent grinned widely without glancing up from Mark's leg. Tom turned and nodded to the younger members. "This is Tairun, he's sixteen-"

"Call me Tai." The youth corrected.

"Tai." Tom repeated. "Our first young lady leaning on Tai is Tabitha, and her sister Joanna is sitting on the other arm of the couch."

Joanna looked up quietly and whispered in a sweet voice, "Tabby doesn't like to talk, so I do it for her. Call me Jo and her Tabby, or Tabbs, or just Tabb."

Marla nodded sheepishly, whispered just as sweetly, "Hi Jo, hi Tabby." She swallowed and blushed. 'You have to apologize.' She thought. 'You were about to shoot them, and I don't see how they can be so calm without hating you.' She blushed deeper crimson and attempted her apology.

"I'm sorry about the other night Jo, you two had startled me-" To her surprise, Joanna cut her off mid sentence and started to scold her for apologizing.

"Don't." She began, Marla noting she gripped her sister's hand more tightly when speaking, as though Tabitha's thoughts were an electrical current that passed over to her sibling with even the lightest touch. "You were surprised. We were too. It's all right now."

Marla blushed and felt her face warm intensely. She managed a genuine smile. "Thank you." She whispered sullenly.

At this moment, Tairun placed his now empty cereal bowl on the table, gently slid out from under Tabitha, picked up the bowl again and brought it out to the kitchen sink. He turned the water on, washed and dried it before putting it back in the far left cupboard with the other bowls. Marla smirked smartly.

"Tom, he's better at cleaning up after himself than you are!" Tairun and Trent (whom Marla recognized the type of person who could be in the worst situation imaginable and still have something to laugh about) laughed, not loudly, but it seemed to amuse both of them. Tom chuckled, squeezing her shoulder gently as he did. Already she was adjusting to their presence, Marla still remained apprehensive about living with all of them (she hadn't lived with others since college with her roommates, Marcia and Valery.) but the seed of a casual atmosphere had been planted. Marla found herself ready and willing to help feed that seed and pull them all closer together as a group. Marla realized something with a disheartening shock. Tom and she's apartment was probably the only human occupied safe house for the next two cities, if not more. Marla was flabbergasted at the thought, the city of New Hire and her sister, Old Hope, once populated over a million people. They had been growing as the largest exporting center in Pennsylvania for the last few years, the civil economy was excellent and flourishing. Before the infection went massive airborne in the first two weeks of it's emergence (the military announced over public radio frequencies that the airborne strain had died out on it's own about two weeks ago) the cities were wild and free, intoxicating and dangerous. Petty crime was mild due to excellent Police Departments across the cities, working in tandem to keep the violence to a low, and natural beauty was also protected equally. Massive forests, hunting lands and newly appointed national and state parks were spread out around the jewel of a city like a moat. Her parents had lived in the outskirts of the city, a more wealthy area, in a modest but affordable three story house at the base of the Black Water River that coiled around the concrete jungle before jetting off to the north towards New York. Tairun came back around the divider wall to the living room, stepped in front of Joanna for a moment before plopping down comfortably on the hardwood. He leaned back against the couch, his legs outstretched lazily. Marla stood there for a moment, confused as to what she was meant to do, then noticed Tairun nod to the spot he had just left on the couch. She stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to take the offer, when Tom gently pushed her by the small of her back towards the sofa. She turned at him with a jokingly sour expression on her face which turned into a mischievous grin, winked and sat down easily in the couch. Tabitha gave a small squeak, Marla smiled weakly, scooted closer to the teenager, letting her use Marla's thigh for a pillow as she had Tairun's. Marla sighed in contempt, giddy that all was forgiven and forgotten, watched the movie with the kids until she fell asleep.

********

When she woke the girls were still there sleeping soundly in the same positions as before, though Tai had moved over to the other couch, sharing it with Mark. Mark grimaced coldly, rubbing his injured leg at the joint beside his groin earnestly. Marla gazed at him out of the corner of her eye. 'He isn't being explicit.' She thought gingerly. She pondered it a moment. 'I guess his cut must be acting up. I've had a few where you get hurt one place and it aches all the up your body.' She paused in her thoughts, remembering days of when she ice skated in high school. She hadn't sharpened her skates blades, neglecting it to see a movie with Tom (whom she'd known since junior year when she moved to the area; they had went to a school at the city outskirts) who would have scolded her kindly and drove her back home to do so if he would have know. Never the less it was the next day and she had entered a private skater's club competition in the afternoon. Her dull skates went on and Marla went down with a skidding crash into the ice rink walls. She had fractured her leg and had sustained a minor concussion. When she woke she was in the hospital with Tom and her parents standing over her. The first thing Tom had done was to lightly flick her nose with his pinky finger playfully. He had said, "Next time you hurt yourself it'll be two flicks."

She emphasized with Mark, but stayed coolly out of his thought. He was cold and hard, Marla found herself dreading to talk with him one on one. Marla had never been the girl into the troublemakers or jocks. She had found it disgusting to see the other girls, occasionally even a friend, gape over their lack of control or don't care attitudes. Marla had refused to compromise her integrity, mental prowess and ethically moral status intact, and frankly had no lust for the brick headed instigators. She was an attractive woman, had many attempts at wooing her, though none had proved successful when she explained to them their idiocy. As standards went she was quite popular in school, but for the reasons of being smart and kind, even to the blockheads that had made ill fed attempts at her. The idea of being in a relationship (which Marla had regarded as a relationship and not what the tramps called 'fooling around') with a cold, hating person such as Mark seemed repulsive to her. She was quite glad her parents had actually been parents, instilling in her great responsibility and saving her from the clutches of animals like Mark. Tom had been a miracle, and she was quite glad she had been so gifted.

The twenty four year old woman caught herself. She was talking about Mark as though he were a dog in the streets. Mark was hateful and cold, foul mouthed and fully conscious of his decisions, but not an animal. She reminded herself that he might have been a slightly different person before the infection, it had changed her views on the world and if so could have done the same to Mark. Marla felt ashamed for treating him as an inferior in the regards of moral status, she didn't know him at all, only that he was sick, hurting and, as she had been on the roof when the Hum-Vee had flipped in the street, helpless and utterly useless against the wave of panic brought on by the infection that claimed nearly seventy percent of the population. Marla bit her lower lip discreetly. 'Darn your conscience!' She hissed. 'without it you wouldn't feel so bad as to call him names!' Even as she said it she rebuked it. Her conscience had done so much for her. 'It recognized Tom.' She thought soothingly.

Tai had slipped off himself now, his head leaning exhaustedly on his shoulder, he slumped comfortably in the soft cushions of the couch. She smiled weakly. Tai was quiet and respectful, but hardened and older than his time. She had noted the comfort the girls seemed to express when he was near, and began to understand that he was their family. Not by blood of course, but Tairun played the role of the caring big brother. He sat comfortably next to them, made certain they were well off before tending to himself. She found herself looking up to him. Tairun loved those girls, and would sacrifice anything to save them. Marla found herself a bit jealous, adoring his quirky behavior. 'He is sixteen after all.' Marla reminded herself. His parents had raised a gentleman, masculine but tough. She found herself surprised to be looking at another Tom. She blushed sheepishly. 'After all this is over, if it ever is over, you're gon'na make someone a happy bride.' She felt like giggling but was afraid to awake any of them or attract Mark's attention. She looked back at him. Mark had stopped rubbing his leg, and simply gripped his leg above the wound very gently. A pink tinge had come over the bandage, though Marla delayed the thought as some trick of the mind from the television, which had been put over to another Disney movie instead of the 101 Dalmatians. It was Bambi this time, another one of Marla's favorites.

Marla yawned quietly, slid Tabitha's head off of her lap and onto one of the corner pillows and stood up. Mark grunted and cursed, causing her to look his way. The bandage had turned darker pink, and was blackening slowly. She gave a pout.

"You reopened your cut, Mark." She said simply.

Mark grunted again. "No shit, doll face." He scoffed. Marla stared at him with a hint of hostility. Mark stared back. "Well?" He asked coldly.

"Well what?" Marla replied.

Mark stared at her dully, a hint of mayhem in his eyes. "Well, as in can you grab some gauze pads so I don't bleed to death?"

Marla nodded, replied, "Of course." She turned and walked into the kitchen, retrieving an assortment of medical supplies from the cabinet and walking back to the bloodied and hurting soldier.

Sorry for the cliff hanger guys but I have to condense the material or the chapters will get too long. Enjoy!


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